Cold Heart
by Akatsuki Feathers
Summary: Really, only Stan Marsh was able to make him feel anything other than hate or annoyance. *Curly Goth/Stan, one-shot*


Title: Cold Heart  
Pairings: Curly Goth/Stan  
Rating: Teen  
Description: Really, only Stan Marsh was able to make him feel anything other than hate or annoyance.  
Author's Note: Just a little one-shot. :D I would really love to see more of this pair.  


* * *

It was one of the colder days in South Park. It was cold enough to summon each breath to the visible world and send it high into the grey-blue sky. Snow slowly fell down on the townspeople, leaving the snow on the ground an inch thicker and the skin of the people a healthy pink.

The dark teen stood long, angular, and vulture-like next to the bus sign, waiting for the bus like every other child in his neighborhood. By his side were several other children, all of them slightly younger than him and definitely not a part of his lifestyle.

The group of four—the troublemakers and unpopular ones of their grade—were there, chatting amongst themselves. One shouted at another and soon banter went between the two, leaving him with a tension headache.

He cursed his crap of a car and his mother's work for demanding her so early in the day. He cursed the cold weather and the hell of a town he had to live in. He cursed everything in it and especially to God for putting him in such a situation.

The older boy paused and glanced back at the group... he hadn't noticed that they were missing one telltale member... the one whom he had met on several occasions...

Stan Marsh.

He glanced around again and found that the boy was nowhere to be found.

Of course; he probably had his own car and didn't have to wait for the bus like the rest of the idiots that went to his school. He didn't need to anything like he did because he was popular and smart, athletic and good looking. A perfect little package...

He grunted and kicked at the ground, toes a little cold under the leather of his boots. At least his jacket kept him warm enough...

There was a rumble from down the road and he glanced up, pushing a bush of black hair out of his face, and saw the bus pumping its way towards them.

"About time," he mumbled to himself and readjusted his schoolbag on his right shoulder. He shifted feet and waited.

As the bus came and stopped, kids pushed their way in front of him and into the confines of the yellow, metal beast.

Before he could enter the bus, something off in the distance caught his sunken in eye, causing him to stall behind the large one and look over at whatever it was off in the distance.

It was a running boy with black hair...

It was Stan Marsh.

"Are you getting on?" the woman bus driver, whom he never learned the name of, asked in a squawk.

He hesitated, "Yeah... but what about—"

"_Are you getting on or not?"_ she screamed.

He frowned heavily and looked from her and then over at the still running boy. Before he could reply, the bus doors snapped shut and the bus lurched forward and away from him.

He cursed loudly and glared at the retreating form of it, kicking at the ground violently. "Stupid bitch... I would have fucking gotten on."

"Oh shit," Stan finished running to him, frowning at the sight of the already leaving bus, "I'm too late."

He grumbled and exhaled sharply, pulling a cigarette from his breast pocket and lighting in. He took a long drag before exhaling heavily, feeling his insides warm and his nerves settle.

"What's your excuse?" Stan peeped, looking at him with curious eyes. "You were here when the bus arrived. I could see you standing there as the bus left."

The dark teen glance at him stoically, pulling the cigarette out from between his lips and licking them softly. He could still remember when he was a part of them, Raven, and when everything seemed to be falling perfectly into place. He could remember when he came to them for help with his stupid-ass dance troop and he had joined out of this stupid need to help him...

Stan shivered and rubbed his bare arms, glancing about. "I guess we should start walking right?" he nervously asked after another awkward pause.

He shifted against before finishing off his cigarette, forcing the rest of the smoke out of his body in the form of a large ring. "I suppose."

Stan was one of the few people that he had felt any feelings for. Everyone else, from his mother to his friends... they didn't send much, if any, emotion into him. They were almost like ghosts in his life; they were there, but they couldn't interfere with his life...

Not like Stan Marsh could.

Really, only Stan Marsh was able to make him feel anything other than hate or annoyance. He could make his heart flutter one moment and the next make him feel generous and almost... parental.

He shivered again and rubbed his arms.

Somewhere deep in the confines of his stomach, something twisted and knotted. "Are you cold?"

They started walking now, off towards the direction of the school.

He grinned weakly, "Yeah, forgot my jacket because I didn't want to miss the bus. I guess I should have just grabbed it, seeing as how it doesn't matter anyway."

He wondered if his friends ever felt like he did: that irritable little twist in his stomach that made his pulse race and his stomach to warm. He didn't really want to think of them though. They were on their bus already, zipping off to school without any knowledge that anything was off.

He hummed something as a response and before he even really knew it, he was taking his trench coat off and holding it out to him.

Stan paused in step and looked at him a little shocked, "What are you doing?"

"You're cold aren't you?" He asked, a hidden smirk tugging in his mind.

"Yeah, but won't you be cold than?"

"Does it matter?" It didn't to him. Barely anything fazed him lately and while the cold was annoying as hell and did bother to him, it wasn't really something that lingered too long. He was used to numbness anyway.

"Well... I don't know. Does it?"

"It doesn't."

Stan took the coat from his hands and slowly pulled the heavy piece of cloth over him.

It was sort of comical in a way, having the jock of the school wear one of the outcast's coats. Not only that, but having it be a coat too large for him, making him seem like a drowned cat within the long layers of cloth... well, that was just funny.

He exhaled and watched as his breath filled the air, readjusting his bag once again before putting his hands into his pockets.

"Thank you." Stan smiled at him.

Blood rushed to his cheeks and ears, leaving him a little embarrassed. Only Stan could do that to him. "Hmm,"

He chuckled a little, "You never did tell me why you didn't get on the bus."

The curly-haired one sighed before glancing at him, face still red, "I saw you running to the bus and I wanted to stall enough so you'd make it. But the bitch decided to just leave me standing there."

"Oh, well, thank you again than."

"Hmm," he licked his lips again and debated over lighting another cigarette or not, "I thought you had your own car..." he fought back the urge to call him Raven.

"I don't actually," he chuckled a little, "Saving up for one though... don't you have one?"

His shoulders hunched a little, "Piece of shit decided to break down this morning."

"Bummer dude,"

"Hmm,"

They continued towards the school in silence, footsteps echoing against the empty streets.

Stan wrapped himself a little further in the trench coat as another shiver came from him.

His lips were turning numb as well as his fingers were. Of course there was that small inkling in the back of his mind, telling him to snatch the coat back up and put it on to refill him with heat... but the happy look on Stan's face convinced him not to.

"What is your name anyway?"

He slowed until he stopped completely. "Why?"

Stan shrugged, "I don't know. I've known you for years now and yet I don't even know your name."

"My name isn't very... exciting." He looked away and continued again, pulling a cigarette out of his pocket and lighting it.

"Does it matter? I don't want to say, 'hey you,' just to get your attention." His smile weakened.

He took a deep drag and looked away, "I hate my name."

Stan frowned and looked away as well.

He allowed the smoke to spill from his nose, feeling his chest warm a little from the cigarette smoke. He pushed his frizzy hair out of his face and looked sharply back at him. "Do you really want to know that badly, Raven...?" He couldn't stop himself from saying it, and he bit his tongue afterwards, looking away again.

Stan chuckled, "I haven't been called that it in a long time." He glanced at him, but his look was ignored. "Brings back memories,"

He grunted, "Yeah, yeah..."

"So... your name..."

More smoke spilled from his nose and he replied softly, "Logan,"

"Logan?" He looked startled, "Really?"

"Yes,"

Stan laughed a little and wrapped the trench coat back around him; his backpack was able to be worn under it without taking away from the largeness of it. "It's a nice name."

He grunted, not really wanting to divulge any further in the topic.

"Look, the school..."

He looked off and saw that South Park High was in sight. He sighed heavily. He would probably just migrate to the back again anyway...

Why had he even bothered to go?

Stan, that's right.

"If... you ever want to hang out with us... go ahead." He looked down and frowned at himself.

Stan chuckled a little, "I think I will. It'd be nice to see you guys again."

"Hmm, yeah..."

Stan stopped and slowly took his trench coat off. He handed it back, smiling softly, "Thanks. I would have been in a lot of trouble with Coach if he found out that my muscles were cold and stiff." He smiled softly and kissed him on the cheek.

"See you later, Logan."

He was frozen in place, normally narrowed eyes opened wide and his face flushed. "Y-You're welcome."

Stan laughed as he walked off.

His heart hammered against his chest as he mind slowly thawed.

Yes, Stan was one of the few people who could raise emotion into him... but he was the only one who could make him feel so love struck.


End file.
